


The Persistence of Memory

by juniperandjawbones



Category: Mass Effect Trilogy
Genre: Angst, Childhood Memories, Coma, Destroy Ending, F/M, Flashbacks, Hospitals, Memories, Mindoir, Post-Canon, Post-War
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-30
Updated: 2019-08-02
Packaged: 2020-07-27 08:57:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,487
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20043337
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/juniperandjawbones/pseuds/juniperandjawbones
Summary: The invasion is over, the Reapers have been defeated, and the civilizations of the Milky Way have begun to rebuild. Faced with a long road to recovery and a ghost from her childhood, Autumn Shepard must reconcile her new life as a civilian with the traumatic memories of her past, learning how to fit them together and move forward in a post-war galaxy.(Before reading this story, it will be helpful to have readHow to Kiss a Turianas it contains several pieces of backstory for Autumn, Garrus, and their relationship.)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> **Notes for the Chapter:**

> **CW: This prologue briefly mentions sexual assault around the middle of the chapter. Please take care of yourself while reading.**

**Prologue**

_ Orange light from Mindoir’s setting suns pours through the canopy of a huge apple tree, whose leaves move gracefully in a gentle breeze that cuts through the heat. _

_ It is late summer, and she is five years old. _

_ A pair of strong hands grips her tiny waist and she is lifted high into the air. She stretches her hand toward a fat, ripe apple. _

_ “Reach, Autumn! You’re almost there!” _

_ Her father’s deep voice is close to her ear as he encourages her further, and she clasps her little hands around the smooth, shiny skin of the fruit, warm from its daylong bath of sunlight. She yanks, shaking the sturdy branch and rustling its leaves. After a few tugs, the apple comes loose in her hands, and she holds it proudly in front of her wide, mismatched eyes. A few short curls of dark brown hair frame her round, smiling face. _

_ “Take a bite,” he tells her, pulling her back down and settling her on his hip. He watches her with a smile as she crunches into the apple, a little dribble of its sweet juice lingering on her lip. “Your mama and I planted that tree when we landed here. First seed we put into the ground. This tree is older than you. Even older than your big brothers.” He looks toward the farmhouse and adds, “Behaves itself better, too.” _

_ He sets her down on the ground, and they survey the land together from the shade of the old tree, the waning light bouncing off the glass roofs of a neat row of greenhouses, each topped with solar panels and windmills that keep the farm running. _

_ “Tomorrow we’ll begin harvesting the rest of the apples in the orchard. But this tree?” He reaches out and pats the trunk. “This one will always be just for us, for our family.” _

_ She looks up at him and thinks he must be the tallest, strongest man in the whole galaxy. She doesn’t see the way Mindoir's harsh suns and his years of hard labor have weathered his skin and lined his face, or the silver already showing prematurely in the stubble on his cheeks. _

_ He looks back down at her and grins. “Should we pick some for your brothers, too?” _

_ “Nn-nn,” she says, shaking her head. He laughs as she takes another bite. _

_ “Well, I won’t tell if you don’t.” _

* * *

  
“I’m not hanging it.”

There was a slight tremor in Garrus’s voice as he turned away from the memorial wall, facing the gathered crew of the Normandy. Those who had bowed their heads in reverence lifted them again, looking at him as he shook his head.

“Garrus,” Kaidan said, giving him a pitying look that made the turian want to punch him in the teeth. “You saw what that thing was about to do. Nobody could have survived a blast like that.” 

“You know, Alenko, I remember you saying almost those exact words to me once before. You were wrong then.”

“I’m sure the Alliance already has people looking,” Liara said softly. “But the odds they’d find anyone alive...”

“I’m not hanging her fucking name on that wall until I see a—” He cut himself off. _ A body. _ Those were the words that had been on the tip of his tongue. He couldn’t make himself say them. His jaw clenched involuntarily, and he had to consciously will himself to relax his mandibles before he could speak again. “Until we know for sure.” 

His words were met with silence, but the looks on their faces were easy to read. They all thought he was delusional, naive. He didn’t care. He strode toward his friends, slapping the sign against Alenko’s chest as he kept moving past him. 

“We’re fixing this ship, and then we plot a course for Earth.”

* * *

_ The greenhouse is sweltering, condensation beading on the windows and sliding down in fat droplets that streak glittering lines against the glass. _

_ Autumn wipes her brow with one skinny, tanned forearm. She is eight years old. _

_ Rows of tomato plants behind sturdy wire cages line the inside of the greenhouse, each one covered with tiny yellow blossoms. Her father reaches out to touch one, gently wiggling it with one fingertip. _

_ “That’s all you have to do,” he tells her. “Just give it a little nudge.” _

_ “And that’s what makes the tomatoes grow?” _

_ “That’s right,” he says. “That’s what allows the pollen to fertilize the flower. Back on Earth, we had insects who would do this for us—butterflies and honeybees. But there aren’t any of those on Mindoir, so we have to do it ourselves. And this is going to be your special job. You’re our honeybee.” _

_ She reaches out a finger and gives another blossom a careful tap. _

_ “Like that?” she asks, turning her eyes to her father. He nods. _

_ “Just like that. Every flower you can find, on every single plant. There are five rows of tomato vines in this greenhouse. You’ll do a different row each morning before school, then start over again at the beginning of the next week.” _

_ “What about Saturday and Sunday?” _

_ “No pollinating on the weekend,” he says with a grin. “Even honeybees need a break.” _

_ She reaches out and taps another flower, then another, and another. _

_ “What if I miss a flower?” she asks as she works. _

_ “Well, then that’s one less tomato we can harvest,” he tells her, tucking his hands into the pockets of his denim overalls. “Which means fewer credits for our family and less food for everyone else. Never forget, what we do here feeds the whole galaxy. Everything you do, no matter how small, can make a difference for a whole lot of people. Because you pollinate a flower here on Mindoir, someone as far away as the Citadel will get to eat good, nutritious food.” _

_ “The Citadel?” she asks, her eyes going wide. “Our tomatoes go all the way to the _ Citadel _ ?” _

_ “They sure do,” he says with a nod. “And our apples, and corn, and soybeans, and all the rest of the things we grow here.” _

_ “I wonder what it’s like there.” She moves on to the next plant, a faraway look in her eyes as she imagines the shining silver space station glinting in the light of its nearest star. Her father gives her a smile and lays a hand on her shoulder. _

_ “Keep reaching high and working hard, and maybe someday you’ll find out, Honeybee.” _

* * *

Lush greenery blanketed the ground outside the Normandy where the crew worked together on repairs. They had made steady progress for the past several days, and by the engineers’ estimates, it would only be another week or two before she was ready to fly again.

Sweat slid down the back of Garrus’s neck as he worked, yanking a twisted piece of metal away from the hull and tossing it aside. It landed in a thicket of dense broad-leafed ferns with a loud clank. 

If it weren’t for the circumstances, he thought to himself, this place would almost be pretty. He turned back to the ship and took a large wrench out of his pocket, kneeling down and setting about unfastening the next damaged panel.

“Vakarian!” 

Kaidan’s shout made him jump, and he smacked his head hard on a thick metal beam above him. 

“Ow, fuck!” He rubbed his head, glaring a little at his friend as he jogged over. “What is it?”

“Sorry I startled you, but you’re going to want to hear this.”

“Hear what?”

“It’s Hackett. The Alliance managed to fix the damage to their QEC device, so lines are back up between us and the fleet. He’s waiting for us to patch him through.”

Garrus dropped the wrench in the dirt and nearly sprinted back to the ship’s entrance, Kaidan struggling to keep up. He raced across the shuttle bay to the elevator and punched the button impatiently, pacing back and forth along the platform all the way to the second deck. 

The crew had gathered in the war room, spilling out the doorway into the hall, waiting for them to arrive so they could speak to the Admiral. They parted, making way for the men to come to the front next. Then, Garrus reached out and activated the terminal.

A hologram flickered into existence in front of them, its outline glowing bright in the dim room and casting their anxious faces in a gentle blue light. 

“Normandy, this is Admiral Hackett. Am I coming in clear?”

“Yes, sir, Admiral,” answered Kaidan, giving him a salute.

“Excellent. Major Alenko, where is the Normandy now?"

"Unsure, sir. A garden world somewhere. There was moderate damage when we crashed, but we're making progress on repairs. Now that the QEC is back online, we should be able to find our coordinates and plot a course back."

"Roger that. I want a full status report on the ship and her crew, but f—”

“Have you found her?” Garrus cut in, his tone urgent, desperate.

“But first,” continued Hackett, his eyes flickering toward the turian, “I have news about Commander Shepard. She’s alive.” 

“Keelah se’lai!” breathed Tali’s voice, and the crew held their breath as the admiral went on.

“A crew of Alliance medics found her the day after the explosion, lying in a pile of rubble on the outskirts of London.” 

“How is she?” asked Garrus. “Is she okay?”

“She was barely hanging on when they found her,” the admiral explained. “The explosion knocked out her cybernetics and she was rushed to the nearest functioning hospital for blood transfusions and stabilization. Huerta Memorial is still being repaired, but miraculously their damage was minimal and she was able to be transferred to the Citadel once she was safe to move. She’s been through a dozen surgeries and she was in a medically-induced coma for the majority of the time since the explosion. But they weaned her off the anesthetic a couple of days ago.” His lined face looked grave as he paused, then added, “So far, she has yet to regain consciousness on her own.”

“Is she on life support?” asked Liara, wringing her slender blue hands.

“No, she can breathe on her own. Her neural scans indicate she still has brain activity. But they haven’t been able to wake her up. They’re keeping her hooked up to fluids and she has round-the-clock care from the best doctors in the galaxy. But as of right now, it’s just a waiting game.”

Dr. Chakwas cleared her throat, her voice thick as she asked, “Have Commander Shepard’s advanced directives been accessible?”

Garrus turned to her, his eyes narrowing. “We’re not discussing that yet.”

“We need to,” the doctor insisted quietly, hugging her arms to her chest. “I’ve had to check her wishes several times. It’s been rare to go more than a week without her being in a life-threatening situation. She had explicit instructions regarding prolonged unconsciousness.”

“Now that our comms are back up, you should be able to transmit those records,” said the Admiral. “I agree, it’s important that we have the most current information possible, in case… in case it’s needed.”

Dr. Chakwas gave a solemn nod.

“If anything changes with her condition,” the Admiral went on, “I’ll be sure to let you know right away. Major, if you can stay and give me a full report? Everyone else is dismissed.”

The doctor had hardly made it three steps out into the main area of the ship before a strong hand gripped her upper arm. She turned to see Garrus standing in front of her, his face a devastating mixture of pain, confusion, and the merest glimmer of hope.

“You said she had explicit instructions for something like this,” he said, searching her eyes with his. “What were they?”

Garrus watched as the doctor drew a deep breath before speaking. “What you have to understand is that every day she remains in a coma, her odds of recovering go down. The longer she’s asleep, the more likely it is that she slips into a persistent vegetative state requiring long term life support.”

“And if that happens?”

“And if that happens, according to her wishes…” Her voice broke as it trailed off, and she looked up at Garrus with eyes that brimmed. “The medical team is to discontinue efforts. We’re to let her go.”

* * *

_ “Bring it in, Eli! Bet she doesn’t even make contact with the ball.” _

_ Autumn glares at her older brother, mismatched eyes narrowing against the bright afternoon sun as she grips a wooden bat tighter in her fingers. _

_ It is spring on Mindoir, and she is ten years old. _

_ “Shut up, Brian,” she retorts. “Just throw the fucking ball.” _

_“I’m gonna tell Mom you said the F-word!” he replies, puffing out his chest. Sweat mats his sandy brown hair against his freckled skin as he turns a baseball over in his hands._

_ “Oh, knock it off,” calls her oldest brother, Alex, who’s standing behind her to play catcher. “All you ever do is tease her. Give it a rest.” _

_ “Yeah, just throw the ball,” agrees Elijah, standing behind Brian in the grassy field where the siblings play. “It’s hot as balls out here, and I haven’t even gotten a turn at the bat yet.” _

_ Brian rolls his eyes and pitches low and slow, and she swings as hard as she’s ever swung before. With a loud crack, the bat makes contact, sending the ball soaring high above her brothers’ heads. It slams into the roof of the nearest greenhouse, the resulting sound of a shattering solar panel loud enough to be heard on the neighbor’s farm half a mile down the road. _

_ Her eyes go wide as she drops the bat. “Shit!” she hisses. Within seconds, her dad is storming out of the barn toward the four of them, anger etched into every line on his face. _

_ Soon, the four children are seated around the long wooden table in the kitchen, their parents standing in front of them. Autumn avoids her father’s eye as he leans back against the counter, his suntanned and weather-beaten arms folded over his chest. _

_ “How many times have I told you all not to play ball near the greenhouses?” he asks. “Those solar panels cost more than two hundred credits each. You know how many tomatoes we have to sell to make that much money?” _

_His voice is quiet and even, but the disappointment obvious in each syllable is almost worse than if he were shouting. She squirms in her seat._

_ “Who swung?” asks her father. He looks at them each in turn. Autumn is about to open her mouth and admit fault when Alex speaks. _

_ “It was me.” _

_ Her father looks at his oldest son, surprise in his eyes. _

_ “Alex?” he asks, arching his brow. “You’re the one who hit the ball into the greenhouse roof?” _

_ “Yeah,” her brother lies, looking away convincingly as though ashamed to admit his guilt. _

_ Her father’s glance flits briefly toward Autumn. “You’re positive it was you?” _

_ “Yeah,” he says, unflinching. “I’m sure. You can take it out of my allowance.” _

_ Her father purses his lips for a moment, then says, “Half. You pay half from doing your chores and we’ll call it even.” _

_ Later that night, Autumn’s father appears in her doorway as she’s getting ready to sleep. He comes over and sits on the edge of her bed, the mattress sinking under his weight as he reaches up to tuck her into her blankets. Neither of them speaks for a moment. Her stomach is bubbling over with guilt, and she fiddles nervously with the edge of her quilt, fingers tracing over the stitches her mother had sewn into the fabric when Autumn was still growing inside her belly. _

_“It wasn’t Alex,” she finally says. “It was me.”_

_Her father gives her a small smile. “Yeah, Honeybee. I know it was. I could tell by the look on your face as soon as I came out of the barn. That, and the bat was laying right at your feet.”_

_ She takes a deep breath. “I guess you’ll take the money out of my allowance instead.” _

_ “Nope.” _

_ She looks at her father in surprise. “But why? I admitted what I did.” _

_ “Yeah, but first you let someone else take the fall for you. Now someone else will have to pay for your crimes.” _

_“But that’s not fair to Alex,” she argues, feeling tears of shame prick at her eyes. “He was just trying to protect me. He shouldn’t have to be punished for that!”_

_ “And I know you feel bad about it now,” agrees her father, nodding. “But you needed to take responsibility for it from the start. You’ve got to live with your decision to let an innocent party take the blame for your actions. Because someday, it may be more than just a baseball through a greenhouse roof, and you need to remember what it feels like when your integrity fails.” _

_ He leans over and gives her a kiss on her forehead. _

_ “Goodnight, Honeybee,” he tells her, and she watches him leave, turning out the light as he closes the door. She rolls over, buries her face into the pillow, and cries herself to sleep. _

_ For the next six months, she gives all her allowance to Alex, until the debt is paid in full. _

* * *

“Can’t this flying scrap heap go any faster?” Garrus stood over the galaxy map, glaring at the blinking cursor over Earth. “We’ve been in the air a month. At this rate we’re still looking at three more weeks.” 

“We were an entire cluster away,” Joker replied. “And you know we can’t run the ship at FTL without landing somewhere to discharge the static every few days. Not unless you want to arrive on Earth as a basket of extra-crispy fried turian.”

He braced himself against the railing next to the map, leaning on his right leg. The left had been snapped in the wreck, his femur broken cleanly in two, and though Dr. Chakwas had splinted it as best as she could, it hadn’t healed smoothly. “Trust me, I want to get there as badly as you do,” he assured Garrus, wincing. “My leg is basically being held together with sticks and chewing gum at this point.”

Garrus didn’t reply, still staring at the map.

“I know you’re worried,” continued Joker, following the turian’s gaze. “We all are. I don’t want to lose her, either. We’ve all said too many goodbyes already.”

Garrus looked up to see Joker’s fingers reach up to a small metal pendant around his neck—a simple silver bar. It had been a gift from EDI. 

“I’m sorry,” Garrus said. “I know she’s your friend, too. And I know you’re doing your best.”

“We’re gonna get there,” Joker promised. “We’re gonna make it in time. If she’s holding on for anyone, it’s you.”

* * *

_ The morning breeze tickles a few stray hairs that have escaped Autumn’s braids as she punches a fist into her brother’s ready palm. _

_ It is the coolest part of the year in the colony, the season for which she was named, and she is thirteen years old. _

_ Boys outnumber girls two to one on Mindoir, and the ones in her class have been teasing her relentlessly. While her parents have advised turning the other cheek, Alex knows better than to think that will stop most of those little shits from messing with his baby sister, and he tells her as much. When she asks him to teach her how to fight, he agrees. _

_ They spar in between the greenhouses, out of the line of sight from the farmhouse windows. _

_ “You can do better than that,” he says. “Don’t stop your fist when it hits me—try to punch through my hand.” _

_ She lifts her fist and hurls it at him, thrusting it into his palm with a satisfying smack. He yelps and pulls back, holding his hand. _

_ “Ow,” he says, and his look of shock is replaced as an appreciative smile curves his lips. “That’s much better.” _

* * *

Technically, Alenko was acting captain of the Normandy now, but the crew had all agreed that Garrus should take Autumn’s cabin. He’d been sharing it with her for months already before that final fight, and it had become as much his bedroom as hers.

He lay in the bed where he’d spent so many nights curled around her, looking up through the skylight as the stars sped by overhead.

Three more days until they reached the Citadel, until he could look at her face and take her hand in his. A little less than seventy-two hours. Four thousand, two hundred and forty-nine minutes. 

Not that he was counting.

Reaching toward the bedside table, he took hold of a piece of paper and lifted it to his eyes. It was old and yellowed on the edges, a page from a printed book. Deep creases divided it into rectangular sections. He’d kept it folded up and tucked inside a pocket under his armor every day for more than a year.

His eyes scanned the page, landing on the sections Autumn had so carefully underlined the night they’d stormed the Collector base, and it was her voice speaking them in his mind as he read them to himself.

_ “Will you tell me how long you have loved him?” “It has been coming on so gradually, that I hardly know when it began.” _

He rolled over, closing his eyes and breathing deeply against her pillow, but there was nothing there to comfort him any longer. After so many weeks, her scent had finally faded from it.

* * *

_ “The answer is no, Autumn.” _

_ Her father’s face is stern as he kneels next to a combine, his hands blackened with grease as he tightens a bolt on the engine. The time has almost come to harvest the summer’s crops. She is fifteen years old. _

_“But that’s not fair!” she complains, her mouth twisting into a frown. “Just because you don’t like Tommy—”_

_ “Thomas Gianetti is far too old for you to be going out with,” her father says, not looking up from his work. Under his breath, she hears him add, “And his parents are stuck up assholes.” _

_ “He’s only seventeen,” she argues, arms crossed indignantly over her chest. _

_ “And you’re two years younger than that.” _

_“So? You’re _five_ years older than Mom!”_

_“It makes a bigger difference at your age.”_

_ “So you’re going to make me miss out on my first high school dance just because you don’t like the boy who asked me?” She can feel tears of injustice pricking at her eyes, she can hear the whine in her voice pitching it higher, and she hates it all even as it’s happening. _

_ “Nobody said you have to miss the dance,” he tells her. “You just can’t go with Tommy.” _

_ There is a pause, and then... _

_ “I hate you.” _

_The words leave her lips before she realizes what she’s saying, the impulsive utterance of a petulant child, and as soon as they’ve escaped she wishes she could snatch them from the air and shove them back into her mouth. Her father freezes, the ratcheting of the socket wrench in his hand ceasing abruptly. He takes a deep breath._

_ “Well, that’s fine,” he tells her. “But I love you, Honeybee. That’s why I can’t let you go with that boy.” _

_ But she does go with him. She lies to her parents and says she’s going with a group of friends instead, but Tommy meets them all at the cafe, and they have burgers and fries and then they spend the dance glued to one another, his eyes on her chest more than her face. _

_ Afterward, he takes her to a secluded road near the river that cuts through the colony. They are surrounded by trees, with only the moon and stars to light the interior of his father’s expensive hovercar. _

_ It’s her first kiss, and her heart flutters beneath the delicate red fabric of her dress as his mouth presses against hers. She barely has time to think before his tongue is jamming past her lips, demanding entrance, and then suddenly his hand is grabbing at one of her small breasts. _

_ “Tommy!” she exclaims, shoving him off of her. “What d’you think you’re doing?” _

_ “I’m kissing you,” he says, a note of indignation in his voice. He leans in again, but she puts a hand up to stop him. He frowns, his brows furrowing angrily. “I bought you dinner, I danced with you all night and hung out with your stupid, immature friends. The least you can do is let me have a little fun.” _

_ “My friends aren’t stupid, and I don’t owe you shit.” She reaches behind her shoulder to grab the seatbelt. “I want to go home.” _

_ “I’ll take you home when I’m ready,” he insists, and he stretches out a hand toward her again. _

_ Letting go of the seatbelt, she rears back and lands a right hook on Tommy that would have made her brother proud, her fist connecting with his face so hard it sends pain shooting all the way up into her forearm. _

_ “Shit, Autumn! What the fuck is wrong with you!?” He leans forward, clutching his cheek as she jumps from the car. _

_ “I’ll walk.” _

_ She slams the door in his face and strides back down the road, clutching her sore hand and deliberately ignoring him as he speeds past her. He leans out the window, yelling obscene things at her as the warm wake of the car’s engine blows the hem of her dress around her knees. _

_ By the time she reaches the farm, her feet are blistered and aching. Her parents are on the couch watching a vid, and her dad turns to look over his shoulder as she walks behind them. _

_“How was it, Honeybee?” he asks, giving her a smile._

_ “Fine,” she lies, and she mounts the stairs, going to her room without another word. She lays awake for a very long time. _

_The next Monday, Tommy Gianetti comes to school sporting a black eye. He won’t say where it came from, and neither does she, though if people take a close look at her bruised knuckles, they don’t have to think too hard to work it out._

_ She never asks to go to a school dance again. _

* * *

“How can I help you?”

The asari receptionist behind the visitor’s desk of Huerta Memorial Hospital smiled pleasantly over her computer screen at Garrus. Her cheerful voice and happy demeanor felt jarringly out of place after his weeks of worry. 

The rest of the crew were anxious to see the Commander as well, but they’d all agreed that he should be the first. She’d _ want _ him to be the first.

“I’m here to visit Autumn Shepard,” he explained, looking around the lobby. A crew of contractors in one corner of the room was working on replacing one of the huge glass panels that lined the walls. Scorch marks still marred the floor beneath their feet.

The receptionist’s blue fingers danced over her keyboard and she peered at the screen for a moment.

“Commander Shepard’s visitor list is restricted, they’re allowing family and military superiors only at this time.” She gave him a quizzical look. “What’s your relationship to the patient?” 

He felt taken aback by this question. A flood of descriptions of what she meant to him rattled around in his brain, each sounding more melodramatic than the last. 

_ She’s my best friend, _ he thought to himself. _ My soul’s perfect counterpoint. _ _ She’s the reason I breathe. I would kill for her. I would _ die _ for her. _

“I’m, uh… I’m her boyfriend.”

He’d described himself as such a hundred times before, but now the word rang false, juvenile and inadequate in scope after everything that had transpired. 

The receptionist looked down at her screen again. “Oh, are you Garrus Vakarian, then?”

“That’s me.”

“If I can just verify some ID, I’ll ring security to escort you up.”

A moment later, an armed human C-Sec officer met him and took him to the elevator, riding to the upper floors of the hospital with him. They stopped outside a room where a white curtain had been drawn around the bed inside. Another C-Sec officer, this one a turian, stood outside her door, and he nodded at Garrus in greeting.

_ A. Shepard _ was displayed digitally on a little screen next to the door. The turian guard pressed a few buttons on his omni-tool and the door hissed open. A calm voice inside was issuing orders from behind the curtain at a quick pace.

“Repeat another neural scan in three days and make sure she still has the same activity level. In the meantime, same IV protocols, keep her comfortable. Surgical sites all look good, shouldn’t need to do much more with them except monitor.” 

Garrus cleared his throat, and then a three-fingered hand slid the curtain to one side with a loud rattling of plastic rings against the metal bar above. A salarian doctor and an asari nurse stood facing him, blocking his view of the bed.

“Can I help you?” asked the doctor.

“I’m Garrus Vakarian,” he stammered. “I’m Shep—I mean, Autumn’s… I’m her—”

“Next of kin,” the salarian finished, glancing down at a datapad. “Been expecting you, Admiral Hackett reported you were on your way. Glad you made it. Would like to discuss current protocols and prognosis with you, as you have power of attorney over medical decisions relating to—”

“I have what?” Garrus interjected, blinking. 

“Commander Shepard had you listed in her military records as 'partner or spouse,' granting you the rights afforded to next of kin, including power of attorney. Final say in her medical treatment in the event she is unable to communicate her wishes. She has advanced directives, but up until such time as that comes into play—”

“Can I just… _ see _ her first?” he asked.

The salarian looked up again, seeming momentarily surprised at the question. “Oh. Yes, of course. Will continue my rounds for the morning and then find time to speak with you once you’ve had time.”

The doctor tucked his datapad under his arm and left, and the asari nurse gave Garrus an apologetic look.

“Sorry,” she said with a soft smile. “Dr. Erzik is one of the best neurosurgeons in the galaxy, but when it comes to the emotional side of patient care, he sometimes… struggles. My name is Ra’ina. I’ve been the nurse managing most of Commander Shepard’s care since her transfer to the Citadel.”

Garrus accepted the hand she offered and clasped it briefly before she went on.

“I’ll give you some time to be with her. There’s a button on her bed that will allow you to call the nurse’s station if anything changes, or if there are any questions I can answer.” 

“I do have one question,” he said, glancing over the nurse’s shoulder toward the obscured figure lying in the bed. “Can she… hear me? If I talk to her?”

“She does seem to show positive neural responses to auditory stimuli,” Ra’ina explained. Then, in answer to the blank look Garrus gave her, she grinned and said, “We have reason to believe she can, yes.”

As the door opened again, Garrus watched over his shoulder as the nurse left the room. He turned to the bed, finally looking at the woman lying there under the sheets. 

Her face was in shadow, framed by a halo of brunette waves that had grown long in the months since he’d seen her. Walking closer, he pulled a chair up next to the bed and sat, brushing his fingers through the soft strands.

A small section near the front of her hair had been shaved at one point. It had grown out in by an inch or so, and a line of pink scar tissue bisected it—evidence of an incision from one of her many surgeries. Another line ran down the center of her chest, disappearing under the patterned cotton fabric of her hospital gown. Plastic tubes and wires ran under the covers and into her sleeves, and an IV line dripped a slow, steady flow of liquid into her veins. 

He watched her breasts rise and fall as she breathed, looking so peaceful that he could have believed she was just taking a nap, and he reached out to wrap his hand around hers. Her palm felt soft and warm and familiar in his.

“I’m here, Autumn,” he said, his voice breaking as his breath hitched in his throat. The harsh, false sunlight of the Presidium poured through the window, glittering against a tear that had escaped his pale blue eyes, trailing its way down his scarred cheek to fall to the floor between his feet.

* * *

_ “Wake up, Autumn.” Her mother’s voice, sharp with irritation, cuts through her slumber. _

_ She rolls over in the bed, moaning as she pulls the blankets over her head. She is sixteen years old. _

_Her mother puts a hand to her own belly. She’s been sleeping poorly for weeks and spending large portions of her mornings bent over the toilet. Her pregnancies have never been easy at the beginning, and this one was a surprise to all of them. She reaches out a hand and shakes the lump of Autumn’s shoulder beneath the well-worn quilt. _

_“This is the third time I’ve asked you. Next time I send in your dad.” No response. Her mother scoffs. “Fine, have it your way,” she says, and Autumn barely registers the sound of her bedroom door slamming closed again before she dozes off once more..._

_ “Head off the pillow and feet on the ground, Honeybee.” _

_ It’s her father’s stern voice this time, and she groans, yanking the covers off of herself as she sits up, her hair a tangled mess and one cheek colored bright pink from where it had been pressed against her pillow. _

_ “Your bus is going to be here in an hour and you’re not even out of bed yet,” he goes on, crossing his arms over his chest. “You have all of greenhouse five to do this morning. Get a move on.” _

_ She rolls out of bed and frowns, reaching toward a pile of clothes to begin yanking on a pair of jeans. _ _ “I remember when you only made me do one row before school,” she grumbles. “Now it’s a whole building.” _

_“Farm was a lot smaller then, and so were you. Be down at the table in five minutes or I’m letting your brothers eat your pancakes.”_

_  
By the time she makes her way out to the greenhouse, the suns have risen past the horizon line and the sky has turned a pleasant, rosy shade of pink. Alex smiles and shakes his head at her disheveled appearance as he passes by, his muscular arms laden with heavy bags of fertilizer. _

_ He and Eli have long since graduated school, choosing to stay on and help their father grow the farm. Brian is a senior this year, ready to blast off on the nearest ship leaving Mindoir as soon as he’s done in the spring. She understands his restlessness, thinking to herself as she opens the greenhouse door that there has to be more out there in the galaxy for her than endless rows of tomato blossoms. _

_She walks among the plants, reaching out and tapping the flowers more roughly than necessary, rushing through the job. Her mind is elsewhere, worrying over an Earth literature test she has in the afternoon, several pages of essay questions about a book she hadn’t enjoyed in the slightest._

_ As she is about to round the end of the first row and start on the next, she hears a shout from the direction of the farmhouse, and then a strange sound fills the air, like the harsh whistling of a tea kettle. She frowns, looking out the glass panel of the wall. Taking a step toward it, her eyes turn to the barn and she sees a dark shape speeding toward its roof. _

_ The building explodes before her eyes, and then she hears her mother screaming as she runs limping across the yard toward the greenhouse, her hand clutching her side, a dark stain spreading beneath it over the fabric of her dress. _

_ Autumn bursts out through the door, but her mother shouts for her to get back inside, to hide, and they duck together under a low table at the front of the building. _

_ Her mother is white as a ghost, her chest heaving as she struggles to catch her breath, and Autumn’s lip trembles as she watches her collapse. _

_ “Mom, what—?” _

_“Batarians,” she gasps, grimacing in pain. “They’re attacking the colony.”_  
_  
“What about dad? And the boys?” Autumn's voice rises with fear. “Where are they?” _

_Her mother closes her eyes, tears spilling over as she lays her head in the dirt. She doesn’t answer the question._

_ “What do we do, Mom? We don’t have any weapons, we can’t—” _

_ Her mother coughs, spraying red droplets on the ground. _

_ “You lay here next to me,” she says, her eyelids drooping as she meets Autumn’s gaze. “You cover yourself in my blood, you hold your breath, and you pretend to be dead.” She takes a deep, shuddering breath, reaching for her daughter’s hand. “You can’t fight them. But you can fool them.” _

_ Autumn feels her mother squeeze her palm, her fingers slick and sticky. She can hear the distant sound of gunfire now, and the sound of people screaming. _

_ “I’m sorry I was angry this morning,” her mother whispers, a faint smile on her lips. “Your father and I… we love you so much.” _

_ “Mom, stop.” Autumn shakes her head. _

_ Her mother’s grip goes slack. _ _ “So much,” she repeats. “Honeybee…” _

_ “No. Mom, no!” Autumn pleads, her words choked with panicked sobs. “Please don’t go, please don’t leave me! I’m scared, I don’t know what to do!” _

_ There is a chorus of voices shouting outside, close to the greenhouse. She reaches out to touch her mother’s side, near the gentle swelling of her pregnant belly, to where the blood is still leaking out of her. She fights the urge to vomit as she smears it over her throat, soaking it into her clothing and lying face down in the dirt next to her mother, trying to still her trembling body as the sound of the door banging open and a pair of heavy footfalls reaches her ears. _

_ She holds her breath. She pretends to be dead. She fools them. _

_ Twelve hours later, she sits in the cramped passenger area of an Alliance shuttle with a small group of other people. _ _ They’re the only ones left alive and uncaptured. _ _ They sit in silence as the little ship prepares for takeoff, tears cutting clean tracks through the dirt and the soot and the blood that streaks their faces. _

_ She looks out the window and clutches a small bag of belongings—a photo of her family, the glass shattered in its frame; a little pink bible with her name engraved on its leather cover; her quilt, wadded unceremoniously into a ball; whatever clothes she could grab. What’s left of her life is sitting here in a small bundle in her lap. As the shuttle speeds upward, Mindoir falls away from her, faster and faster. _

_ In the distance, she can just make out the silhouette of a huge apple tree, and next to it the glint of firelight bouncing off the glass roofs of a neat row of greenhouses. _

* * *

Manufactured morning sunbeams streamed through the plate glass windows of the hospital room.

“The extranet is back online finally, Shepard.” 

Garrus sat next to Autumn’s bed in the same armchair he’d been camped out in for the past week. The hospital staff had explained to him that, as he had next of kin rights, normal visiting hours didn’t apply. They’d brought a few extra pillows and a warm blanket for him, and he made himself comfortable enough to grab a few hours of sleep each night. 

The Alliance was also covering two meals a day for him, and he took whatever other sustenance he wanted from the vending machines. He’d quickly learned which ones stocked the best dextro snacks, and which ones were most likely to eat your credits without delivering any goods. This morning, he’d found a plastic-wrapped and preservative-packed pastry for breakfast. He was almost glad Autumn wasn’t awake to chide him for washing it down with a bottle of Tupari this early in the day. 

At first, it had seemed silly to talk to someone who was, for all intents and purposes, asleep the whole time. But after a while, any self-consciousness he felt about it disappeared, and he carried on an ongoing one-sided conversation with her throughout most days.

“I got a message addressed to you from James this morning. Want me to read it to you?” He glanced up at her, then back down at his datapad, clearing his throat. 

_Hey, Commander. _

_Thought you’d like to know that I’ve officially begun my N7 training, and it’s kicking my ass. Some of this shit makes battling Reapers look easy. The facility was heavily damaged in the invasion, but with a literal army here to help haul away the rubble and work on repairs, we’re getting her cleaned up pretty quick._  
  
_ You were right about Rio. It's beautiful here. The beaches remind me of home. Sometimes I go sit on the shore at night and look up at the stars and try to spot the Citadel among them, and I send you a salute._

_ I get a little time off closer to summer, so I’m gonna try to make it up there and visit you again. But only if you promise to say hi back this time. _

_No te des por vencida, Lola. Hang in there._

_ \- Vega _

Garrus looked over the top of the tablet at her with a smile on his lips.

“Glad to hear they’re not letting that boy go soft,” he said, then took a swig of his drink. Setting the bottle down, he reached out and combed his fingers gently through her hair, his talons catching as they hit snags. The sound of the door hissing open behind him made him turn in his seat.

“Still in dreamland, I see,” Ra’ina said as she entered, nodding toward the bed. 

Garrus indulged her with a small smile. It wasn’t the first time he’d heard the joke. “Her hair is getting long,” he observed, lifting it to show the asari.

“It is,” she agreed, checking the various lines and wires crisscrossing one another on their way to their corresponding machinery as she talked. “Does she usually keep it short?”

“Not extremely. But I’ve never seen it this long before. It’s getting pretty tangled.”

“You’re welcome to arrange for a haircut for her,” she suggested as she peered at the IV stand and then made a note in her chart. “I can get you a list of stylists who frequently provide that service for patients.”

“I don’t want to chop her hair off without her permission,” he replied, feeling uncomfortable at the thought. He momentarily wondered how he was ever going to handle a more serious decision if a simple haircut gave him this much pause. “Could I just maybe borrow a comb? And do you have one of those round elastic things humans use to tie up their hair?”

“Of course,” she replied. “I’ll bring them by once I’m done with my morning rounds.”

After she left, he pulled out his datapad again. Now that the extranet was up and running, he had the whole of the universe at his fingertips. He navigated to a search engine and tapped the screen with one long finger, speaking aloud to nobody in particular as he typed:

“How… to… braid… hair.”

* * *

_ Guns blast in the distance, the sound ringing through the night air like thousands of firecrackers on Independence Day. _

_ It’s the batarians again. _

_ Autumn looks out at a sea of terrified faces. Civilians, all of them. Most have never even held a gun, let alone fired one. She's supposed to be here on shore leave, at an alpine resort on a planet called Elysium in the Petra Nebula. She is twenty-two years old. _

_ “I know you’re scared,” she tells them, pacing at the front of the crowd. “They’re banking on it, they’ll use that against you.” She stops, facing them, the lines of her face hardening as she clenches her jaw. “Don’t let them win. This is your colony. Your home! Do _ _not give it up without a fight.”_

_ The handful of other marines here with her lead small groups of ground troops, fighting to push back the batarians, struggling to hold out just long enough for the air support they've been promised. _

_The alien forces push through the civilians’ defenses, and she shoots her way toward the bottleneck, aiming spray after spray of bullets into the invading soldiers and mercenaries. She forces them back enough to close the breach, and then the sky lights up with the flare of gunfire from Alliance airships._  
  
_ Reinforcements have arrived. The enemy retreats._

_Later, they hold a parade in her honor, confetti falling from drones in the sky as she is driven through the streets to be presented with the Star of Terra, the Alliance’s highest honor. The military and the press bill it as her victory alone, a single-handed defeat of the batarian ground forces._  
  
_ The bravery and sacrifice of the people of Elysium is lost in her shadow._

_ She spends the next few weeks in a haze, her nights a blur of neon-lit bars and strangers’ beds. _

_When she finally comes back to work, a commendation is waiting for her. She has been recommended for an elite training program. They tell her to pack her bags._  
  
  
_ She’s going to Earth for the first time._

* * *

It had been a month since Garrus arrived on the Citadel. Now that her incisions were fully healed, the restrictions on Shepard’s visitation had been relaxed, and everyone who could make it to the hospital had come up to see her by now, some of them even making it a habit to visit once or twice a week.

There hadn’t been much change. Her neural scans still showed activity, but not significantly more or less than when he had arrived. 

He felt stupid for being inwardly disappointed at the fact that she hadn’t immediately woken at the sound of his voice or the feeling of his touch. He’d imagined the scenario so many times as they’d raced back to Earth—walking up to her bed, murmuring her name, reaching out to grasp her hand. And then she would flutter open her eyes, take a deep breath, and everything would go back to the way it was. 

But of course, those sorts of things only happened in vids. 

Here they were now, several weeks later, and she hadn’t so much as sneezed. He knew he should be grateful that she was still hanging on at all. But seeing her lying silent and motionless in that bed every day somehow didn’t feel like a blessing to be counted. 

“You’re quiet this morning,” Ra’ina observed as she emptied the urinary bag at the foot of the bed. Garrus watched her work. He'd seen plenty of the less glamorous parts of caring for a comatose patient by this point, and any squeamishness he may have had at the beginning was long gone now.

She made a note in Autumn’s chart, then added, “Talking to comatose patients is good for them. It keeps their neurons firing.”

“I just feel like I’m running out of things to say,” he admitted, leaning back and rubbing his eyes in frustration. “It’s hard to be the only one making conversation all day.”

“You could sing to her,” suggested the nurse.

Garrus snorted. “Trust me, nobody wants that. Least of all my girlfriend. She can't cover her ears to defend herself.”

Ra’ina chuckled, then looked up at him. “What about reading to her? You could discover a new story, and she gets the benefit of hearing your voice. Everyone wins.”

“That’s not a bad idea,” he said, scratching his mandible.

“There are plenty of classics from all different cultures available for free in the Citadel’s online library,” she told him. "You should give it a look."

A few moments later, he’d signed up for a library account and was scrolling through the options. Ra'ina smiled over her shoulder on the way out the door as she watched him settle back into his chair. 

“What do you feel like today, Shepard?" he asked. "Mystery? Fantasy?” His eyes ran down the list of human titles until he landed on one that was familiar to him, and he smiled. “Oh, here we are. How about a little romance?” 

Clearing his throat, he opened the story and crossed his ankle over one knee, setting the datapad against his leg.

_“It is a truth universally acknowledged_,_”_ he began, _“that a single man in possession of a good fortune must be in want of a wife...”_

* * *

_ The lights in the Normandy’s main battery glow red against her skin as she stands in front of the door, hair still wet and tangled from a rushed shower, the torn page of a book clenched in her sweaty hand. She is thirty-one years old. _

_ Garrus is standing in front of her, giving her a confused look as she presses the paper into his palm. _

_“Just take it,” she tells him before touching her lips to his forehead. “I’ll see you on the other side, Garrus.”_

  
  
_Then she’s standing on a platform overlooking the Presidium, and he’s hurling an empty bottle into the air for her to aim at. She pulls her gun to the side, an intentional miss. The joy erupting on his face as he laughs is a better reward than victory._

_ The next second she’s on a dance floor in the Silversun Strip, a blush creeping up her cheeks as he whirls her around. She pretends not to like it, promises to pay him back for it later, but as he dips her low and kisses her in front of the watching crowd that has gathered around them, they both know it’s all a ruse. There is nowhere in the galaxy she would rather be. _

* * *

“Happy birthday, Shepard.” Garrus set a small plate on the table next to the hospital bed. “I’m sorry I wasn’t here much this morning, I had to go pick up your cake. I got the best bakery on the Citadel to make it. It’s your favorite, too—chocolate with whipped cream and fresh strawberries.”

He looked down at his hands, wringing them between his knees as he talked.

“I gave most of it to the nurses on duty, I didn’t think you’d mind. But I saved the biggest piece for you. It’s right here, waiting for you. You just have to wake up.”

Raising a hand to his eyes, he shut them tight and clenched his mandibles, his mouth twisting into an anguished grimace as he fought to stay in control. He’d already pled and prayed a hundred times to any deity who might be out there listening, had asked every doctor who’d entered the room if there wasn't any more that could be done. He felt lost and hopeless. And all he could think to do about it was buy a fucking cake. 

His shoulders shook with silent sobs, and when he finally looked up again, wet tracks streaked his cheeks.

“You just have to wake up,” he repeated in a soft whisper, voice breaking as he reached for her hand. “_Please,_ Autumn. Just wake up.”

* * *

_ “The paths are open, but you must choose.” _

_Autumn stumbles down a metal walkway, clutching her side as half a dozen broken ribs scream out in pain. She is thirty-two years old._

_ She has chosen to destroy the Reapers. She knows this will mean the end to all synthetic life. She knows this will mean crippling the galaxy, leaving them without vital technology until they can rebuild. _

_ She also knows this is the only way to save them, to end it all for good. _

_Visions flash before her eyes: Anderson’s face, an approving grin curving his lips; then EDI, a look of resignation and understanding on her metal features. And then it is Garrus's face before her, his scarred mandible curving up into the smile that she has grown so fond of. She wonders if he knows how much she loves him, that he is the one she regrets having to leave the most. Her breath hitches in her throat as she chokes back a sob._

_Straightening, she aims her pistol and shoots, firing round after round into the Crucible, flinching as bits of steel fly outward at her face. Then there is a loud rumble, and everything explodes around her, and the world goes white. _

_ After a moment, the blinding flash of light dims into a warm orange glow pouring through the canopy of a huge apple tree, whose leaves move gracefully in a gentle breeze that cuts through the heat. _

_ It is late summer, and she is five years old. _


	2. Chapter 2

The cafeteria at Huerta Memorial was situated on the top floor of the building, offering what had once been breathtaking views of the lake at the center of the Presidium Commons. Now, it just afforded Garrus the daily heartache of surveying the damage caused by the Crucible explosion. Repairs were gradually being made, but so much of the center of the Citadel had been reduced to a smoking ruin that it would be a very long time before it ever returned to the beauty he remembered from his many years spent working on the space station.

He stood near a window with a drink in hand, waiting for his food order. Several stories below him, a crew was working to clear the remains of a crumbled apartment structure. He knew the Citadel had evacuated the civilians from this area long before the explosion, and casualties had been minimal in this part of the station. But he couldn’t help but wonder what else they were recovering from the rubble, the fractured pieces of peoples’ lives left behind as they fled—photographs of their friends and loved ones, bottles of wine they’d been saving for special occasions, little ones’ favorite toys.  
  
He blinked, turning away from the window. His days were hard enough to get through as it was. Why the fuck was he sitting here making himself _sadder?_  
  
“Mr. Vakarian?” He turned toward the counter where a teenage boy was holding out a foil-wrapped packet. “Your sandwich is ready.”

“Thanks, Pete.” He accepted the food with a polite nod.

“Any change with the Commander?” 

Garrus had to smile at the kid. He’d been coming here every day for the past two months, and everyone in the cafeteria—heck, everyone in the _hospital,_ it seemed—knew who Shepard was and what she had done for the galaxy. They’d all been keenly interested in how she was doing, but Peter, in particular, seemed quite starstruck by her. He’d confessed early on that Autumn was a personal hero of his, and he never missed an opportunity to ask after her condition when Garrus came up to grab a bite.

“Nothing yet,” he told the young man.

“Well, maybe today’s the day, sir. You never know!”

“You never know,” agreed Garrus, still grinning. You had to admire the kid’s optimism. He lifted the foil packet in his hand. “Thanks again.”

He opened the sandwich on the elevator on his way back down to Autumn’s floor, taking a bite and chewing thoughtfully as he watched the numbers on the display counting down. It wasn’t bad—eggs were a little rubbery, as usual, but it was hot and it’d fill his belly for the next few hours. 

He thought maybe this afternoon he’d read to her for a little while. They’d finally finished _ Pride and Prejudice _ —and boy, _ that _had been a slog. Sometimes he wondered if the book was just putting her deeper into her coma. But he’d pressed on until the end and vowed never to admit to her just how much of a challenge it had been. 

Ra’ina had recommended another story to him, something about a human kid who goes to a special school to learn how to use his powers—sort of like Grissom Academy, she explained, but with magic instead of biotics. There were seven books in all, and she’d said she’d flown through all of them in less than a week. In any case, it had to be more interesting than a bunch of rich people snarking at one another about who they’d chosen to marry. Pre-spaceflight humans had been lacking for hobbies, it seemed.

The elevator pinged to let him know he’d reached his floor, and he took another bite as he stepped out. He was so absorbed in his thoughts—and his food—that he didn’t notice the conspicuously empty nurses’ station on his way past.

As he rounded the corner to Autumn’s hall, he could see through the window that there were people inside her room. _Lots_ of people—the salarian doctor, and nurses bustling around her bed with the kind of quickness that told him something big had happened. Erzik was leaning over the bed, obstructing his view. He raced for the door, dropping his drink on the ground. It exploded into a shower of bright purple liquid that spilled over the tile, spreading in a wide, sticky pool.

Bursting through the doorway, he shouted, “What’s wrong, what happened!?” His voice sounded unnaturally high, panic evident in every syllable.

Heads turned in his direction, and he was surprised to find that they were all.... _smiling._ Dr. Erzik moved to the side, allowing him to see the bed behind him. 

Autumn was propped up against a mountain of pillows, eyelids droopy but open, the long, messy braid he’d plaited into her hair the night before hanging over one shoulder. She looked up, and his heart hammered somewhere in the vicinity of his throat as he met her gaze for the first time in months.

“Garrus!” His name came out of her in a hoarse, excited squeak, like the creaking of a hinge badly in need of oil, and her mouth curved into a smile as he strode toward the bed. 

Without preamble, he leaned down and pressed his forehead against hers, cupping her cheek in his hand. When he bent down to kiss her, her lips felt wet and tasted of saltwater. He wasn’t sure if they were her tears or his own, nor did he care.

Pulling back, he lost himself in her eyes, his gaze shifting from the blue to the hazel and back again. He thought he could look at them forever, see nothing but her for the rest of time, and be happy.

“I’m sorry,” he said, barely more than a whisper. She reached up, wrapping her fingers around his and gripping him feebly with her weakened fingers.

“What?” she croaked. "Sorry? What on earth for?"

“I wanted to be here when you woke up,” he said, looking down at the foil-wrapped remains of the sandwich still clutched in his other hand. He’d smashed it in his grip. “Picked a hell of a time to go get lunch.”

She laughed, and although it sounded weak and raw, he thought it might be the most beautiful sound he’d ever heard. “Tell you what, you go back up and get _me_ a sandwich and we’ll call it even.”

Dr. Erzik cleared his throat. “Apologies,” he said, “but strictly out of the question. Your stomach has been devoid of solids for months, we can’t just jump right into sandwiches. Clear liquids, gelatines, and broths are permissible for two days. After that, we can graduate to purees. Perhaps a sandwich by the end of the week, if all goes well.”

Autumn blinked at the doctor, then turned back to Garrus. “Does he know I saved the galaxy?” she asked in a stage whisper.

Erzik gave her an indulgent smile as a couple of the nurses chuckled. “Even heroes have fallible gastrointestinal tracts. Need to run some tests and repeat neural scans, and then discuss minor procedures that will need to be performed under anesthesia. We’ll give you some time to reconnect and be back in half an hour to get started.”

The staff began to file out of the room. As Ra’ina left, she drew the curtain around the bed, tipping Garrus a wink before closing it fully and heading out the door.

“Hey,” said Autumn, and he turned back to her. She was giving him a soft look, full of longing. “Come here.”

He leaned over again, and she raised a hand to his scarred cheek, closing her eyes as their lips met again. He kissed her for a long time. Maybe longer than he ever had before. When he broke away, her eyes were shining with tears again.

“I dreamed about you,” she told him, her eyes flitting back and forth between his. 

“Anything naughty?” he asked, and he was rewarded with a soft huff of laughter.

“No, sadly. It was more like… remembering, I guess? I feel like I’ve been lying here reliving my life over and over again in bits and flashes, like watching a movie with big pieces cut out. And then sometimes it was just dark and cold, like being out in space only without all the stars. But there were times when I could swear I heard your voice, like you were calling me back.”

He squeezed her hand. “I tried to. I prayed to everyone I could think of, anyone who might be listening. The spirits, Athame, Kalahira, Jesus, all those chubby little gods the volus worship. I’ve been begging for you to wake up for more than two months.”

“The doctor said it’s well into 2187 now.”

Garrus nodded. “You missed your birthday. I got you a cake.”

“How long ago was that?”

“Over a week.”

“Damn,” she said, frowning. “No chance of sneaking me a piece, then.”

He laughed. “Only if you want to chew on a chocolate brick.”

“At this point, it’s tempting. They went to all this trouble to save me and now they’re gonna kill me with two days of water and broth.” Her smile faded, and she gave him a concerned look. “But tell me about everything that's happened. How's your family?”

“Dad and Solana hunkered down on Sur’Kesh with Mom. The planet was largely untouched. Guess the Reapers were saving the salarians for last.”

“And your mom… how is she doing?”

“They’ve stopped the progression of her neural decline. Haven’t been able to reverse much of the damage, but they’re still trying. They were interrupted by the war, though. Lots of casualties coming in from the front lines that kept them busy.”

“That’s understandable,” she said, nodding. “But I’m pleased to hear they’re getting somewhere. What about the crew?”

“We were heading through a relay when it blew, crashed into a planet one cluster over. We had no idea where we were. Turns out it was a nature preserve under Citadel protection, so Hackett had to send a cleanup crew out to collect all the little bits of Normandy we scattered around the crash site. He wasn’t exactly pleased.”

“But you all made it back okay?”

“Fairly unscathed,” he replied. “Joker broke his leg in the crash, but Chakwas patched him up until he could get surgery here at Huerta. He’s mostly recovered now, though his limp is a lot worse.”

“Where is everybody now?” 

“Most of them are still hanging around the Citadel, or on Earth. Tali went back to Rannoch a couple of weeks ago to help with the resettlement efforts, but she said she’d be back as soon as you were awake. James is on Earth doing his N7 training. Joker and Liara have been making regular visits, Grunt has been eating his weight in noodles, Kaidan is helping Hackett coordinate Alliance operations here in the Solar System. I think Javik stuck around, too, but you know how he keeps to himself. The old crew have been making visits, too. Jack and Miranda each came by, Kasumi and Jacob as well. Wrex is busy on Tuchanka helping get things back to normal, but he sent me a message last week. He and Eve are expecting.”

Autumn smiled. "That's wonderful." 

"Kolyat came by once to see you, as well. Said his dad would have wanted him to. He prayed for you."

She blinked against the burning sensation pricking at the back of her eyes. “And… EDI?” She wasn’t sure why she asked the question. She knew the answer already, and Garrus confirmed it by shaking his head.

“Her body survived mostly intact. But her AI is gone.”

She took a deep breath. “Does Jeff hate me?”

Garrus frowned. “C’mon, Shepard, you know him better than that. He’s sad. Who wouldn’t be? But he knows you saved all our asses, and he knows EDI would have asked you to make the same choice. You did what you had to do, just like always.”

“Seems like we all paid a pretty heavy price for it.”

“We did,” he agreed, squeezing her hand again. “But now we have to focus on the future, and how we rebuild. EDI, Anderson, Ash, even Zaeed’s grouchy ass… you know that’s what they all would have wanted.”

She nodded her head, swallowing hard. Then she cleared her throat, eager for a change of subject. “So… what have you been doing this whole time? Just sitting here watching me sleep?”

“Mostly,” he said, nodding. “And talking to you, telling you about what’s been going on. And I read you a book.”

“Oh? Which one?”

“_ Pride and Prejudice _.” He smiled proudly, and she chuckled at him.

“God, really? Why would you put yourself through that?” She shook her head. “No wonder I didn’t wake up sooner.”

He looked taken aback, his brow plates arching in surprise. “But that’s the book that you quoted when you—” He reached into his pocket and drew out the little folded book page he always kept on him, holding it out.

“The quote was a perfect fit,” she said, shrugging. “But I never actually liked the rest of the book. I had to read it in high school, right before… before I left Mindoir.” She skirted quickly over that topic, as usual, adding, “Honestly, I never understood why people like Jane Austen. Who wants to read four hundred pages of rich people gossipping behind each other’s backs?”

Garrus let out a laugh, the first he’d had in many months, and Autumn’s face split into a huge smile at the sound.

“Oh, thank the spirits,” he told her, looking relieved. “I was worried I was going to have to pretend to like it for the rest of our lives.”

“Gosh, no,” she said, shaking her head. “It’s _ terrible _ . If you wanted fun human stories, you should’ve gone with _Harry Potter_.”

“That’s what Ra’ina said!”

“Well, she’s got good taste,” said Autumn, grinning. Then she reached up to touch the piece of paper in Garrus’s hand. “You held onto that.” She didn’t phrase it as a question.

He looked down at the creases that were wearing so thin they had almost torn in spots, and the lines of blue ink that had smeared and bled underneath the printed text after being worn under his armor for so long.

“It got me through more than one day, looking at those words,” he admitted. 

She reached up and brushed his mandible with her thumb, still smiling.

“You’re all the romance I need, Garrus Vakarian.”  


It wasn’t long before the medical team was back to take Autumn away for a laundry list of tests and procedures. She was to remain hooked up to fluids for the rest of the day, and then the following morning she would be scheduled for a removal of her feeding tube under anesthesia. The goal was to have her eating and drinking normal foods by the week’s end.

“You’ll be able to use the toilet on your own once we remove your catheter tomorrow,” Ra’ina told her as she got her settled into the bed again, carefully hooking an IV line into the port taped to the back of Autumn’s hand. “It might be uncomfortable for the first few times. And your stools may not be regular for a little while.”

“Being a galactic hero sure is fun,” mused Autumn, watching the nurse work. Ra’ina reminded her a lot of Liara, and it wasn’t just the blue skin. She had the same mixture of extensive knowledge and clear competence, blended with a comforting, gentle demeanor that softened the edges of whatever hardship you were dealing with. It was a good combination for someone in her line of work.

“I do think you’ll enjoy your physical therapy, though,” the asari went on, pulling the blankets up over Autumn’s legs.

“Oh?”

“Yes,” Ra’ina replied. “Mr. Vakarian tells me you’re fond of swimming. One of the first things we’ll have you do to regain muscle strength is water therapy. You won’t be doing the breaststroke right away, of course, but you’ll be using an underwater treadmill, doing aerobic exercises in the pool, things of that nature.”

“That does sound nice,” she admitted. “I haven’t been in a pool in years.” She looked around the room, then added, “Where is Garrus, anyway?”

“I believe he went up to the cafeteria to grab a bite to eat while you were finishing up your neural scan. He didn’t want to be inconsiderate by eating in front of you.” She smiled at Autumn. “He seems very thoughtful.”

Autumn returned the expression, then looked over at the chair next to the bed, still piled with pillows, the knit blanket draped over one arm. “Can I ask you a question?”

“Of course.”

“After everything that’s happened, does he seem”—she fiddled with the edge of her blanket—“Do you think he's doing okay?” 

Ra’ina seemed to consider this, tilting her head. She had a line of pale dots that ran along the center of her lips, and they all but disappeared as she pursed them.

“I've rarely seen a patient’s next of kin so dedicated to them,” she replied. “I think he's left the hospital a total of two times—once to settle some things in regard to transferring your belongings from your ship to your apartment, and once to procure a cake for your birthday. Aside from that, he's been here with you the whole time, excepting a couple of times a day when he would leave to get food. He’s been very… _ focused _on your recovery.”

“Has he been taking care of himself?”

“Some of his diet choices have been a little questionable—”

Autumn waved a hand dismissively. “That’s normal.”

Ra’ina chuckled. “He’s been taking care of basic necessities, eating and showering regularly, that sort of thing. And he seemed to take comfort in the regular visits from your friends. But I would say he hasn’t taken much time to do things for himself since he arrived, no.” She gave Autumn another kind smile. “Seeing a person you care about remain unconscious for so long can be very hard. We have support groups at the hospital for those with incapacitated loved ones, but he chose not to take advantage of them, no matter how often I dropped subtle suggestions. He seems a bit stubborn, if I may be frank.”

A crooked smile curved Autumn’s mouth. “Didn’t take you long to get the measure of him.”

“If I had to guess, I’d say he didn’t want to take any more time away from you than he had to. He’s been grabbing every moment he could. I can tell he was disappointed not to have been the first thing you saw when you opened your eyes.”

“We’ve spent a lot of time sitting next to one another’s infirmary beds,” explained Autumn. “We’ve always been there when the other came to.”

“I wondered,” Ra’ina replied. “It did seem very important to him.”

“Still, you can’t blame a man for needing a sandwich.”

The asari gave a small chuckle again. “No, you certainly can’t.”

The door to the room beeped and then hissed as its panels slid apart, and Garrus walked in, a bottle in his hands.

“A little apple juice for the infirm,” he said, giving it a shake.

“Oh, I could kiss you,” Autumn replied, reaching out toward him with both hands. “Gimme.”

Garrus arched an eyebrow and gave her a mischievous grin. “Well, if that’s the going exchange rate, I can’t wait to see what happens when I bring you some jello tomorrow.”

The nurse cleared her throat. “I feel like this is a good time to remind everyone that critical care patients are all monitored via telemetry and closed-circuit video.” She pointed over her shoulder to a small camera mounted on the ceiling.

“Killjoy,” Garrus accused, unscrewing the cap of the bottle and inserting a straw. He sat next to the bed and offered Autumn a drink, which she gulped eagerly.

Ra'ina grinned. “I can see you’re in capable hands, so I’ll take my leave until tomorrow. I know you have a lot to talk about, but try not to stay up _too_ late catching up. Our patient needs her rest.”

  


A few hours later, the asari stood at the nurses' station down the hall, packing her bags to head home for the night. A younger nurse, a human fresh out of the academy who had only started at Huerta Memorial a few weeks previous, sat next to her, reading over a datapad filled with notes on the various patients on their floor. She glanced up, looking toward the video monitors.

“Hey, Ra’ina,” she said, her brow furrowed.

“Mmm?” asked the asari, without looking up.

“Look at bed six. Is that allowed?”

Ra’ina turned her eyes to the monitor labeled with a large number six. It was Commander Shepard’s room. 

The chair normally occupied by the turian sat empty. The Commander had shifted herself over in bed, and Garrus had climbed in next to her, his long, lanky limbs curled around her frail frame. They’d fallen fast asleep under the blanket together, peaceful expressions on both of their faces.

“Technically no," she replied. "It’s not allowed.”

“Should I wake them?” the young nurse asked.

“Are they obstructing the fluid line or any of the telemetry devices?”

“Not that I can tell.”

Ra’ina smiled up at the screen. “Then don’t you dare.”


End file.
